I love how a trace of rain transforms a garden, even one that is already doing very well. I see the same in the neighbors and in myself. Our greens are more vivid and intense in the charged atmosphere; our purples and reds draw notice from the hummingbirds.
I wonder now if, in all my years of writing, I have ever used the word aura. I think not. But it may well be that in this connection I should.
A row of poems, still tender, just beginning to climb.
Someone weeping for joy in the night.
Work Notes
Hummingbird
suspended
beneath
the eaves
flees into my memory
Poems, Slightly Used, May 5, 2009
Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Poems, Slightly Used
Tags: Auras, Diaries, Haiku, Hummingbirds, Journals, Memory, Poems, Poetry, Rain, Words, Work, Writing
